


Passenger

by SearchingForMercury



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Road Trip, USUK - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingForMercury/pseuds/SearchingForMercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through illogical thinking and general nosy-ness, Arthur finds himself stuck in a car with Alfred, traveling to God only knows where. It's definitely not headed back to campus. But he's okay with it. Alfred just needs to get...whatever this is out of his system, right? He will turn the car around. Surely.</p><p>As the sun sets, however, Arthur becomes increasingly frantic. His fingers won't stop moving, his leg won't stop bouncing. He tells Al to stop the car, to turn around, to go back to school.</p><p>Al says no.</p><p>----</p><p>This is written for thatsrightdollface for her INCREDIBLE Prussia/Austria story~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatsrightdollface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/gifts).



Fields were whirling by at an alarming rate, as was the sun with its sinking, and Arthur couldn't decide which was worse. On one hand he had next to nothing to look at and on the other, night was coming while he was several miles away from where he ought to be. He glanced over at his driving companion. Al's expression showed no signs of guilt or possibly, even, a mental debate. He looked relaxed, Arthur would say, and this troubled him even more.

Why had he gotten in the blasted car to begin with? A better question might be why Al had let him. When one was going off on a grand adventure of self-understanding or whatever, usually it was alone, right? That was what Al wanted to do, probably -- find himself. Where, Arthur had no idea. It probably wouldn't be among some cut-back, muddy fields.

If Arthur knew how to drive, he would have hatched a brilliant plan to commandeer the car at the next gas station. It would have been spectacular -- Al at the tank, eyes focused on the sale price, as he pulled the keys from the ignition. Al would be at his mercy.

Okay, so probably not. The guy was taller, with broad shoulders, and heftier. He could probably pin Arthur to the hood, twist his arm a little, and Arthur would have to give. What a jackass. 

Arthur shook his head a little and Al glanced at him.

"You alright there?" he asked.

Arthur snorted. Oh so elegant. "When have I ever been alright?" he asked. "I've told you about a million times to turn this car around, yet you refuse to listen!"

"Twenty-two times -- I've been listening," Al said and grinned all cheeky-like. 

"Then why aren't we headed back to campus?" Arthur asked, rolling his eyes. "This does _not_ look like anywhere close to the Springs. Or Denver. Or anywhere I know of in Colorado."

Al snickered, bringing one hand to his mouth. "Man, you need to get out more often. Pretty much half of Colorado is this -- fields and shit. Farms," he replied.

Arthur could feel his cheeks warm up with the inevitable Blush of Shame. He should have known that. It wasn't like he hadn't done any research into where he wanted to study abroad. The hours he had spent in front of the computer, looking up schools and locations. Somewhere interesting, scenic. So sure, he hadn't paid all that much attention to the stuff that wasn't pretty -- it still should have made some sort of impression.

Arthur groaned and had half the mind to throw a tantrum -- legs and arms flying as he yelled at Al to turn the blasted car around. "Can we _please_ turn around?" he whined, hating himself for doing so. And for using the word 'please.'

A corner of Alfred's mouth turned upwards. "No."


	2. Get Into the Car

The little houses in downtown Colorado Springs reminded Arthur of England. He wasn't entirely sure why, as he came from London, but they did. Perhaps it was the way they varied, how no two were alike. Maybe it was how close they were or the colors they were painted; how most of them looked like they came straight from a fairytale. Or the Victorian Era.

It was true -- he thought Manitou Springs looked most like Europe and he would often find someone to travel there with him when he ever felt homesick, but he never walked down one of those streets without thinking of how he would like to see what it's like to live in one of those houses. Would the floor creak? Would he hear the traffic through the walls? It all seemed very artsy. To be an art student living there, maybe.

A great setting for a story, he often thought. He wasn't, strictly speaking, an art major. English was more his beat, with Creative Writing as a minor. But writing _was_ an art -- outlines were sketches, plots were maps. Literature that built up worlds so complex, the reader could fall into a story without even realizing it; elaborate paintings one could ponder for a lifetime.

Fall was beginning to set in, too, and while Arthur had been warned many times that fall was almost nonexistent in Colorado, he could think of nowhere else that had trees such as these. There were the yellow aspen leaves, with their white bark, set against dark evergreens. Oranges were so much brighter, with leaves fluttering down to lay across the sidewalk. He also kept getting told it was much prettier in the summer, when everything was in full bloom, but for some reason he kind of doubted that.

He liked autumn. He liked hearing the crunch of the leaves under his foot. He liked the feeling of festivities lurking nearby, around the corner. Pumpkins were being stocked in supermarkets. Brown, cartoon turkeys stared at him from the decorations set up in Wal-Mart. Halloween costumes were filling the shelves. Yes, it was definitely his favorite season.

Arthur hunched his shoulders when a gust of wind came at him. He was beginning to understand why most people carried extra jackets with them -- "Just in case," they said. At least he was prepared for winter. Probably. There was a lot of talk about weather here and since he was an exchange student, he got all the warnings. All of them.

In any case, he was happy when he arrived at the dorms. Warm air tucked in around him once the door swung shut. Whiteboards hung on nearly every door, snippets of conversation written out in different colors. Some even had expressions to go with them. His door was no exception, but that was due to his roommate. Francis's friends had each donned a particular color for their remarks.

'Fuck the police' was written in red, all caps. A smiley face was drawn out in green.

Charming.

They were sprawled out over the floor playing a video game when he walked in. Gilbert was on his back, head bent at what looked like an uncomfortable angle, as he mashed buttons on his controller. Francis looked almost amused and bemused at the screen and Antonio was talking.

"I think we should spray-paint it. Make it look like real blood," he said, certain words catching his Spanish accent more so than others. His easy smile was what attracted people to him, Arthur theorized. It was so genuine -- people couldn't help but want to trust him. "Deep red. Build it up so it looks more 3D."

Arthur set his bag down under his loft bed, by his desk, and took a seat. Might as well get through some of the homework. Not like his grades would hurt if he didn't -- they were always steady, perched at the top of the grading scale. Right where his parents liked them to be.

"Hmm, _non_ , I think we should focus on our costumes," Francis replied. "We need to look convincing."

There was a sudden stream of what sounded like German swear words and Gilbert jumped to his feet. "Ha! In your faces!" he crowed. So maybe he hadn't been swearing. Gilbert shook his hips and moved his arms in what Arthur could only guess was supposed to be a victory dance.

"Can we play Mario Kart?" Antonio whined.

"Sure, but I'm still going to beat you there," Gilbert replied, smug.

"I only ever race against Frankie anyways."

"Francis," Francis corrected. His friends didn't acknowledge this.

They were all exchange students. Arthur had a feeling the school liked to put them all in one end of the dorm, to keep things tidy. Francis, ironically, was from France. Arthur wasn't sure if he knew the other two before coming to the school -- they seemed awfully close for having just met a month or so ago.

\----------

Arthur was more than halfway through his analytical essay, picking apart _Medea_ as if he hadn't done so before, when there was a knock on the door. It shook him out of his stupor, the one he got into when he wanted to ignore his roommate and just... _get in the zone_ , as he had heard it put before.

Francis flicked his long blonde hair over his shoulder and sighed. "It's always open, you know," he called out.

"No it bloody well isn't," Arthur hissed. It _better_ not be. He always locked the door at night. But it was true that some of Francis's culinary classes ran later than Arthur wanted to stay up.

Francis waved a hand at him, as if to shush him, while the door opened. Three heads turned to see who it was. In walked Alfred and his younger cousin, Matthew. They looked so much alike, people were often confused when they found out the two had different last names.

"Awesome!" Gilbert shouted and launched himself up from the ground. "You can both play with us! I need more of a challenge!"

Al chuckled at this, glancing at Arthur on his way to the TV. "Sure thing, so long as you don't cry in German when I've thoroughly beaten your ass," he said.

Gilbert made a noise that sounded a lot like the letter F. "Germans don't cry," he said. Instead of taking his previous position on the floor, he settled down with his legs crossed under him, back straight.

Antonio handed Al his controller.

"It's good to see you aren't sick," Arthur said, layering his voice in condescension.

Al turned to look at him while Gilbert was choosing options from the start screen. "What?" he asked.

"You weren't there," Arthur replied. "In class."

"Oh," Al said and laughed, almost nervous sounding. "Yeah, no, I'm not sick. Just, uh, didn't really feel like going, you know?"

"Mm."

This wasn't the first time Al had skipped class. The only reason Arthur noticed, though, was because Al often chose him for group activities. The rest of the class had their usual partners, so when Al missed a class, Arthur was usually shoved into another group by the teacher. Or paired with the teacher. It had been one of those days.

It was kind of odd, having him in his room. The only time he ever really saw him _was_ in class. Gilbert and Antonio shared a room, though, so maybe they all hung out there. Or other places. Did Al have any other friends? Probably, he seemed the friendly, popular type. Hm.

Arthur tried turning his mind back to _Medea_. If it were up to him, he would have just scribbled JASON IS A DOUCHE on a sheet of paper to turn in to the teacher. That about summed up his entire essay. Instead, that was his title. For the time being. He'd change it before actually turning it in, of course.

The laughing and mumbled words from the others began fading, becoming less prominent in his mind. Instead, Medea took front stage, her eyes sharp. The lifeless bodies of her children gathered a little too tightly in her arms. Yes. Arthur began to write once more.

\----------

"Okay, last round," Gilbert announced. These words shot through Arthur's daze, making him feel like he had just taken a fall in a dream. Gilbert only glanced at him. "I've got homework to do later."  
Francis nodded and said something in French. Arthur hated when he did that. "I've got a masterpiece to create," he said.

"After my team beats you in this game," Gilbert said and handed him Matthew's controller. "Hey Mattie, turn on the light?"

The room hadn't seemed so dark until the flip was switched and Arthur was rubbing his eyes. Without realizing it, his essay had reached nearly eight full pages, which exceeded the minimum by about five. It was time to wrap it up.

When the end music played, Antonio leaned back against the wall. "I think that's all for me," he said.

"Aw man, really?" Al said. "That round barely even lasted long enough!"

Gilbert was nodding. "True facts," he said and smirked, like he was enjoying some sort of joke. "But I'm kinda tired of playing this shit."

Antonio looked up. " _Hey_ \--"

"I mean, not shit," Gilbert said. "Best shit. _That_ sort of shit."

Antonio did not look impressed.

Al sighed and lost a bit of his posture. Not that he had any to begin with. "I've got an essay due tomorrow," he mumbled.

Arthur almost snickered. "Yes, that I'm almost finished writing," he wanted to say. Instead, he smirked at his screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Francis look in his direction.

The silence that hung heavy in the air was bust when Gilbert suggested they watch a movie instead. Francis complained about his masterpiece while the others argued over what to watch.

"Have you guys seen _The A-Team_?" Matthew asked.

Everyone except Al and Arthur turned to stare at him with buggy looking eyes.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, ending with a nervous laugh.

In the end, however, when they came to the realization that one of them would have to retrieve the movie from another room -- and nobody wanted to do that, there were far too many blankets on the floor -- they settled on _Monty Python_ instead.

Arthur could only stand for so much of that movie. While he wouldn't say he entirely disliked it, there was a small number of times someone could tell him his mother was a hamster before he lost his cool. His essay was mostly finished, anyways.

It was a month too early for the movie he chose to watch, with his headphones plugged in and his back to the television. He made a mental note to watch _V for Vendetta_ closer to the actual time. Nothing like the idea of blowing up parliament to take his mind off of idiot roommates and their idiot friends.

The lights were turned off once again by Matthew.

\----------

When Al stood up and left, Arthur pulled his headphones out of his ears. He hadn't caught what was said, but it struck him as odd. Al had been the one eager to stay -- Arthur was sure the others had agreed on a movie _for_ him, to cater to his procrastination. Perhaps he knew and that's why he decided to go? He didn't really seem the type to look too deep into things, though.

Then again, he _was_ in his literature class.

Before he even stood up, Arthur was mentally smacking himself in the face for being such a busybody. The others were still watching the movie. The famous line, "She turned me into a newt!" was spoken, but the door shut behind him before it could be finished.

Al wasn't in the hall. That wasn't terribly surprising, as his room wasn't far from theirs. It was decorated mostly with sports memorabilia and two flags crossed in the middle, the sticks taped to the door -- American and Canadian. If anyone ever had the deep desire to, oh, say, make Al their target for intense bullying, it wouldn't be that difficult.

Arthur hesitated with his arm up, ready to knock. What was he even doing? Was he there to tell him to come to class for once? To tell him he was lucky for having friends who were willing to watch stupid movies with him?

The door swung open.

"Eh," Arthur somehow let out.

Alfred's eyebrows rose up for a moment. "Hey there, Artie. Can I...help ya with something?" He shifted his weight onto one leg and looked down at him. Expectant.

"I, uh, um."

Apparently Al was one of those few people who could raise one eyebrow. "Right, so, if you figure it out, come find me. Or I guess...never mind," he said. It was then when Arthur noticed he had a backpack slung over one shoulder. "So, uh, see you around. Yeah."

He made a move forward and Arthur instantly got out of his way. He wasn't going back to the room, however. While Arthur didn't know _much_ about him, he did know _some_ things. One of which was how the guy had a part time job he recently quit and all mid afternoon classes. Where on earth could he be headed?

So Arthur made like Sherlock and went after him. Only he was incredibly less stealthy and apparently less observant than he thought, for after they had gone down the stairs, Al turned towards him.

"Why are you following me?" he asked.

Arthur searched for words, for an answer, _anything_. "Who said I was following you?"

Nailed it.

Al sighed. "Just go back already," he said.

Arthur stood a little straighter. "I just needed to get food," he said, trying to form a believable expression of This is the Truth. "Following you, ha."

Al didn't say anything, but Arthur could tell he didn't buy it for a moment. Yet when Al walked the few feet to the door and out into the windy evening, he went after him. Something just didn't feel right and he knew it wouldn't stop bothering him until he figured it out.

"You're still following me." Al's voice was loud in the empty parking lot. "I could sue."

"Sue me for what? For...wanting to get dinner?" he asked.

They reached Al's car -- a red Nissan Pathfinder, according to the car -- and he gave Arthur a pointed look. It either said "explain" or "check out my ride." Arthur chose the latter.

"This looks rather big for one person," he said.

All the locks clicked inside when Al pushed a button on his car remote. If that's what those were called. "I like to go hiking," he said and pulled open one of the doors. His backpack went tumbling across the back seat. "Anyways, nice chatting with you, little British guy, but I've got to go."

"I have a name," Arthur huffed.

Alfred grinned. "I know."

"Then _use_ it."

He pretended to think. "Nah," he said and got in the car.

Arthur fumbled with the handle and, against his better judgment, hopped in with him. There wasn't a whole lot of silence, in retrospect, but he could feel a pounding in his ears and his fingers tapped against a twitchy leg. No, this wasn't unusual at all.

"What are you doing?" Al asked.

"It's cold," Arthur stated. It was, though. He didn't think he was going to need a jacket when he left his room. He knew Alfred was staring at him, but he refused to look his way. There really wasn't much else his brain was providing him in terms of conversation.

Another sigh. "Well alright," Al said and started the car.


	3. Stars that Shine So Bright

It really _was_ his fault. For getting in the car, for not leaving Al alone. That didn't mean that Al could just keep going, though. This was technically kidnapping, right? Maybe he could tell someone at a gas station they would inevitably have to visit. Tell them this madman had taken off without warning, that Arthur was just a scared study-abroad student with no clue as how to get home. Then the police would come and take them _both_ back.

But that was kind of mean, even from Arthur's perspective. Al was a decent guy, probably. He didn't really deserve to be arrested for kidnapping. Would they mark that on his record, he wondered, if the charges were dropped? If Arthur told them it was really a mistake, that it had been a joke. Would he get in trouble with the police? Oh God, he hoped not. That would be terrible. _Hey mum, yeah, sorry, could you come rescue me? The American coppers don't really react well to humor._

"You're awfully quiet," Al said, pulling Arthur from his fantasy of what it might be like to live behind bars.

"Well, you're obviously not turning the car around," Arthur replied, pulling his already crossed arms closer to his chest and snuggling down in his seat. "So why bother."

Al glanced at him several times before reaching over to pat him on the head. Arthur swatted his hand away and gave him the biggest scowl he could muster. He had been told he looked scary when angry, that his dark eyebrows shadowed his eyes or something. Francis got on his nerves a lot. 

But Al just laughed. "Hey now," he said. "You looked at me. Glad to know you aren't gonna be a pissy little shit the whole ride."

Arthur wanted to tilt his head back and groan -- why did he have the luck of that one fish from _Finding Nemo_? His travel companion was slowly rising to the very alarming Francis-like level. "How long is this ride going to be, anyways?" he asked.

Al just sort of shrugged with a little smile on his face. The image of Arthur leaning over to throttle him passed through his mind for a split second. Nah. That wasn't worth it.

He settled for looking out the window instead. Unfortunately for him, the scenery was rather bland, unexciting. The land had flattened out, a terrible comparison to the hills near the Springs, rising up with dark green trees and the scratchy looking brown shrubs. The few trees they passed had almost all lost their leaves, their pretty golden leaves.

It was always such a shame the world became this huge, frozen, sleeping _thing_ the same time every year. People waited patiently, bundled up in jumpers as they peered through glass windows, looking for any sign of the coming spring -- when the world would wake up again. Sometimes it would trick people, though, and wake only for a little bit. Damn the world.

Fields stretched out longer than he could see, occasionally broken by a large metal tub or uneven fence. Wooden posts of all sorts of sizes were linked by barbed wire. Sometimes he saw a cow, but not often. The sun was setting behind the mountains, but those were behind them so he couldn't even admire the sunset. 

Sunsets in Colorado were by far the best he'd seen anywhere. The sky was enormous -- one could see the clouds taking different forms, billowing up or out, and the color behind them was usually a deep, intense blue. So when the sun sank, it sent colors streaming out across the blue and the clouds, painting it with reds and oranges and in between colors he had never even thought of. He often sent pictures to his parents or brought his laptop outside with him for them to see on the webcam. It wasn't the same, though. 

And now he was stuck going in the opposite direction of those mountains, of that beauty he had spent forever on the internet trying to obtain. The sky could hardly even be seen, now. Just lots of grey clouds, dim light, and the metal frames of the car.

"Hey Artie, could you get my backpack from the backseat?" Al asked.

"Why?" Arthur asked, feeling very sullen. He didn't move. 

"I want something from it," Al said and glanced at him. "Please."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but did what was asked of him. Al just wanted his iPod plugged in to his radio and set on shuffle. This didn't really make much sense, however, because Al started skipping every song that started playing.

"Looking for something in particular?" Arthur asked. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do at this point. It seemed like he wanted to be engaging, interested, when his tone clearly said otherwise.

"No--sort of," Al said, eyes flitting back and forth from the road to what his hand was doing.

Whatever. Arthur settled back to looking out the window, though the constant start and stops of songs made thinking a little more difficult. It would be absolutely dark, soon. Dark to the point where even the sun hiding behind the mountains couldn't give you the impression of light, where you couldn't even see the fuzzy details. And then what? Would they stop at a hotel, motel, whatever came along? Because from his perspective, there sure weren't going to be any coming up soon.

Electronic music filled the car -- a keyboard? -- and a girl's sugar coated voice sprang up. It wasn't in any language Arthur knew, but Al started singing along. It became obvious he was only mimicking the sounds rather than words, mumbling along to most of it, but becoming strong at the chorus. But that was mostly just "Pon pon pon's."

Al turned and grinned at him when there were breaks in the lyrics, swaying his shoulders along to the claps or keyboard music. Other times he would nod his head, like he was trying to create a softer form of headbanging. 

Arthur just stared.

Eventually the song had to end and Arthur was left with many more questions than he had the guts to ask. Really, the most prominent word bouncing in his head was "what," but Al just smiled at him and started searching for a new song.

"I have a Japanese friend," Al said after a little while. Al hadn't looked his way, but Arthur would bet it was his staring that did it, that made him explain even just a little bit. "We needed something happy sounding."

Arthur turned back to the steadily dimming scenery flying past. He wondered if it would have looked more interesting in the summer. Somehow, he doubted that. Maybe a little more full, a little more color, but it would have all still been the same nothingness -- nothing but fields. Fields of food, of produce. Fields you could not just take a walk in. 

If not fields, it would be the natural grasses that blended in with the dirt, making everything look dusty and colorless, like a photograph that had the saturation drained out of it. Cattle would roam, maybe antelope. Arthur wasn't sure if antelope could walk about on personal property, actually. He had read that some deer would come into yards and eat from gardens, but he hadn't read about the antelope.

A nice enough melody began playing and Alfred snickered, causing Arthur to turn around without thinking. He couldn't tell what was so funny, though. Even when the singing started, he couldn't understand -- and the voice was terrible.

Al began singing along, also mimicking the scratchy tone. He hadn't started at the beginning, when the singer sang about being drunk -- and Arthur believed him, he sounded drunk -- but rather singing out, " _Well, maybe a little rough around the edges, or inside a little hollow -- I get faced with some things, sometimes, that are so hard to swallow -- HEY!_ " He sang all out, belting out the lyrics with absolutely no shame.

And then it all made sense.

" _I was born a rebel--_ "

The goddamn song was about rebellion and that's exactly what Alfred was doing -- being rebellious and driving and that foot on the pedal line and _Arthur wanted to punch that grin off his face_. So he did the next best thing. He unplugged the iPod.

"Hey!" Al whined. 

"You don't sing very well," Arthur stated. That was kind of a lie. Al wasn't great, but he wasn't terrible. He kept close to the tone and was obviously trying to not only follow the sound of the music, but the singer's voice and tone as well. 

Al twisted his mouth up in something that was almost a pout, but probably closer to annoyance. Apparently he could only take the sound of driving for only so long, for he smacked at his radio a few times and something fast and upbeat covered it up.

While Arthur was comfortable with letting everything slip into silence and thought, Alfred wasn't quite ready. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Because I'm taking a survey to determine how many people are hungry at seven o'clock," Al replied. He gave him a very pointed stare before he had to look back at the road.

"I suppose," Arthur said, drawing his words out as if he were suspicious. Really, the little people inside his head were at work, plotting out scenarios, ideas. 

Al glanced at him. "You suppose you're hungry?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, do you have a problem with that?" he replied.

"Nah, man, just wondering how you can't tell if you're running on empty or not. I _always_ know," Al said and scratched at his blonde hair. "Your stomach starts whining -- _feed me!_ \-- it says. Or it gets all grumbly and low and it's just like -- _feed me NOW._ \-- and you just have to shut it up before people start starin' at'cha funny. Kinda like what you're doing now."

Arthur shook his head, forcing his eyes to look ahead at the road. "I'd like to eat, thank you," he said. He had felt his wallet sitting in his back pocket a long while ago, to which he thanked God and Zeus and anybody else up there for. He couldn't say the same for his phone, however, and he was planning on checking for it whenever they stopped. He had the dreadful suspicion it was still sitting next to his computer, that he hadn't grabbed it out of habit. To be fair, he didn't think he would be gone all that long.

They drove past a sign that promised food and gas at the next exit but, to Arthur's dismay, no hotel. Alfred pulled the car from its straight path and slowed down -- it was somewhat of an odd feeling after driving at a consistent speed for so long. The bright, electric lighting had Arthur rubbing at his eyes -- he felt like he had just woken up.

"Al _riiiiight_ ," Al said as he pulled up into the parking lot. "Thank you, America, for having McDonalds pretty much everywhere. I really want a burger."

Arthur opened his door. "You like McDonalds?" he asked and got out of the car.

Al did the same. "It's not the best burger out there -- personally I prefer places like Culver's or Texas Roadhouse -- but it's decent for something cheap and fast. Why? You don't like it?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged and didn't answer. He wasn't about to admit he enjoyed those ice cream things, with the bits of Oreos mixed in or, depending on who made them, the fries. 

After they had each ordered, retrieved their food from the counter, and found a place to sit, Arthur found that he was hungrier than he originally thought. He had forgotten to tell them to forget the mustard, so he sacrificed a french fry to scrape the stuff off. It was difficult to focus on eating, however, when the person he was eating with kept staring at him, mouth moving as he chewed.

"What is it?" Arthur asked. He didn't _feel_ like he had ketchup on his face.

"Just trying to figure it out," Al said, after he swallowed. Arthur expected him to continue, but Al just took another bite from his burger. 

"Figure what out?" Arthur didn't know why, but his entire reserve of patience always seemed to empty around this guy. Here he was, elbows propped up on the table, blonde brushed away from his face like it was natural to sit like that, peering at Arthur through smudged glasses. Arthur just wanted to eat.

"Why you're even here," Al said and set his food down. Finally. "I mean, I was content on just driving off by myself--" he shrugged "--but then you just got in my car. I don't _really_ know you, I mean, I know you from class and from Frankie and all, but you seemed really concerned for some reason. And I dunno, I guess I'm just trying to figure it out."

From Frankie? What did _that_ mean? Arthur was about to ask, but Al continued.

"Anyways, enough talk about that. I wanna get going," he said. "Fill up our stomachs, fill up the car, and keep on going."

Arthur's stomach twisted in a funny way. Half of him felt the grease from the burger messing with him, the idea of continuing to drive off towards an unknown destination. The other half felt as if he looked _forward_ to the unknown, to the idea of driving off with almost a complete stranger. 

He remembered something. "Do you happen to have your phone on you?" Arthur asked. Al would have his roommate's number. 

Al sort of smiled, sort of winced. "No," he said. "That, uh, got left behind."

" _What?!_ "

"Not like, on purpose or anything!" Al's words tumbled out, like he had been put in a corner he had been avoiding. "I just really wanted to get out, get going, go go go sort of thing and I, I sort of realized it when you first asked me to turn around."

Arthur leaned back in his chair and groaned, rubbing at his face with his hands. He stared at the ceiling. At least they both had their wallets. He wasn't sure what they'd have done without _those_. 

"If you need to, uh, use a phone," Al said, "you could probably use the one at the gas station." He was looking out his window, into the dark. Arthur couldn't help but feel almost sorry for the guy -- a feeling he immediately tried to wipe away. _He_ wasn't the one who decided to drive off into the great unknown, unprepared. Al's reflection glanced at him, caught his eye and held on to it for a moment. Arthur looked away.

After they had deposited the remains of their meal in the trash, Al drove them to the gas station, where he promptly began filling the car up as Arthur went into the store. According to the clerk, however, the payphones were just outside.

Arthur slid in the necessary coins and dragged the number out from memory. It wasn't as difficult as he thought it might be -- Francis had scribbled the number on a page in his math textbook, tore the page out, and handed it to him with a smile that meant far more than Arthur would have ever wanted. The more times it rang, the more Arthur's panic rose. What if he got the number wrong? What would he do if Francis didn't answer?

" _Hello?_ "

Oh thank fucking God.

"Hello, Francis, this is Arthur--"

" _Hold on one moment, dear_."

He glanced back at the car, where Alfred was leaning back against the car. "I don't have time for just a moment, I need to talk to you now. And don't call me dear," he hissed into the phone.

Francis muttered something in French and Arthur put his forehead against the wall of the building. " _What do you need? And why did you leave your phone here?_ "

"Never mind that, I followed Al -- Alfred -- back to his room. I thought he was acting a little funny, so I followed him and now I'm stuck going lord knows where. With him."

" _You're going to have to slow down a little. You went somewhere with Al? Where?_ "

"I told you, I don't know. Now just listen to me. Maybe I can convince him to go back. I don't know. But point is, I wasn't murdered or anything, alright? Just, uh, just in case the thought crosses anyone's mind or...whatever."

Francis chuckled. " _Okay, message received. Keep me updated, yes?_ "

Arthur sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Hopefully this won't carry on for too much longer," he said. "But thank you for, for listening I guess. I'll talk to you later."

" _Have fun._ "

Arthur hung up on Francis's laughter. The inner workings of his roommate's mind were as mysterious as Alfred's talk of sports. 

"You finished then?"

Arthur jumped -- Al shifted his weight backwards, balancing on his heels for a moment, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. 

"The car is all good," Al continued, nodding to the side. 

Arthur gave a curt nod and followed him over. Had he heard all that? He hoped not. It wasn't like he had really said anything behind his back, nothing he hadn't said before. Guilt still crept up on him, though. It settled in his stomach.

Al opened his door and paused. "You know," he started. He licked his lips. "You know, if you wanna go back, you don't have to go with me. Mattie has a car, he can come get you. I can call him up for you."

The guilt was overwhelming. The way Al wasn't making eye contact, how he shifted his weight from one foot to the next, Arthur had the sudden desire to hug the other man, to punch him in the arm, _something_ that didn't make him so...so damn _sad_.

Arthur opened his door and slid into the passenger seat. "So where are we headed?" he asked, buckling up.

After some hesitation, Al followed suit. "I don't know, actually," he said. "I was thinking about heading south. What do you think?"

Arthur shrugged, ignoring the way all his blood felt like air, how he knew, deep down, he shouldn't do this. He should go back to school, attend class, turn in his homework. "This is my first time to America. You know it better than I."

Al grinned and drove out of the gas station.

\----------

The darkness was interesting. Occasionally they would come across a small town or a light or two from a faraway house, but mostly it was a blank, dark wall. Or maybe an ocean. It was like the road stretched out in front of them, behind them, and off to the sides was only ocean, forever calm and still. Like glass. Maybe that's what it was. Or maybe the ocean churned under the glass, so that everything was fine on the surface, but once you got a closer look, once you actually _saw_...

Al had turned the music down low, so that it mingled with the driving noises, of the engine and the tires. At one point Arthur had asked about a hotel, but Al had been vague and Arthur couldn't really remember the conversation. They had both crossed a point where the talking stopped and the music was at the front of their minds.

He couldn't remember how he had fallen asleep, only that he had nodded off a few times. But he had jolted back up, looked around with wide eyes every time. He had glanced at Al to see if he noticed, but either the other man really hadn't or he was just being polite, pretending the road was far more interesting than sudden movements made around him.

The first thing Arthur noticed upon waking was the dark; it couldn't have been that long ago that he had drifted off. The next was how the car wasn't moving. Arthur sat up, stretching as much as the car allowed him. A blanket was settled on his chest. The driver's seat was empty. 

The first place he looked was the backseat, but he wasn't there either.

Arthur tried rubbing the heavy feeling from his eyes and yawned. His limbs ached from being in the same position for so long. He peered out into the darkness and that's when he found him.

Al was leaning back against the hood of the car, probably because it was warm, and staring up at the sky. Arthur leaned forward a little to see what it might have been; it had been cloudy that day, what could he possibly be looking at?

Stars.

Peeking between clouds, lighting up their edges, were thousands of stars. Planets too, probably, but Arthur wouldn't have been able to name any. There were more than Arthur had ever seen, other than the pictures he found on the internet, pictures taken from spacecrafts, for school projects.

Arthur didn't know what to make of Al. That he might have done this on purpose? To travel out so far, leaving behind the busy streets of cities, to see this? He pulled the blanket closer and turned to the side. Those thoughts could wait until later, for a time when his mind wasn't turning into puddles at the thought of a person he couldn't figure out.


	4. The City's Ripped Backsides

The sunlight pressed against his eyelids made Arthur reluctant to open them. His back felt stiff and his limbs felt awkward, like they always did when he slept in jeans. With a heavy head, he turned to look around at anywhere but the sun. The car radio threw him for a bit, and he stared at it without processing anything for what could have been minutes. Then he slid his gaze to the window. They were surrounded by fields of what might have once been corn, but at that point it must have been harvested with the rest of the plant withering into brown. The sun was squinting at them right at the horizon, like a flashlight aimed in their direction.

That's when Arthur remembered Al. 

He was slumped over sideways in his seat, head hanging low, and his arms crossed. His hair, which was normally brushed away, swung in front of him with every deep breath and shone gold in the light. His glasses had slid down his nose and the idea they might have crashed strolled through Arthur's mind. But they didn't. They were on a dirt road. He must have pulled off somewhere, if he had kept going after Arthur had seen him staring at the sky.

Arthur yawned and stretched out as much as the small space allowed, feeling joints pop. His tongue swiped over his teeth and he immediately wished it hadn't. The rough, thick feel made him think of built up scum growing on his incisors, his molars, spreading through his entire mouth. They should have picked up supplied in the store at the gas station. Then again, if Al had planned all this, he would have packed. Arthur looked towards the sole backpack in the backseat. 

He imagined himself tearing through it, finding the toothbrush in a plastic bag, a case, something, and the wonderful relief he would feel once his mouth was full of minty foam. But he didn't. Maybe if he were more familiar with Al. If they were as close as Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio were to each other. He could easily see them using each other's stuff and laughing over it, teasing one another.

Al groaned and looked as if he just going to roll over, but his arm hit the door, which jerked him out of sleep. With his blonde hair still hanging in front of his eyes, he looked around with quick movements and a slack jaw.

"Good morning starshine," Arthur said. He meant it more as a reference to the previous night, but Al cracked a smile.

"The Earth says hello," he mumbled in return. He stretched a little, cracked his back, and pulled out a map from beneath the radio. "Right, right."

"Listen, Al, could we maybe go to a convenience store to get toothpaste?" Arthur asked, ready to get going, to do something.

Al hummed. "We should go get something to eat, first," he replied, stifling another yawn.

A frown unfolded on his face. If he weren't careful, it would stay there. "But I feel gross! I want to brush my teeth, take a shower, freshen up! This is disgusting."

Al started up the car, shifted the gears in position and reached down into the cubby under the radio again. A packet of gum landed on Arthur's lap. "Breakfast first," he said.

\----------

The IHOP had promised an assortment of questionable breakfast foods, from eggs to pancakes and anything in between. The images in the windows looked nice enough, but Arthur knew advertising liked to pretty things up, like how cereal commercials used glue instead of milk. He was fairly sure the stucco walls supporting the blue roof used to be white, but life set beside the road had dirtied it beyond any hope of getting back to that clean color.

Alfred pushed open one of the glass doors and held it open until Arthur walked inside. Arthur immediately turned to look around while Al chatted with the waitress that walked out of the kitchen. There was hardly anyone in there, which wasn't too surprising -- it was set among a handful of gas stations and another McDonalds. Booths cushioned with maroon colored plastic, the walls decorated with bizarre food-related images. It was as if they tried dressing it up a little, made it a bit more up to speed with the times.

The waitress led them to a booth and handed them plastic menus as they slid into their seats. They both ordered coffee right off the bat, though Alfred asked for a glass of milk as well and Arthur knew he would peruse the drinks section once the woman had left; ordering under pressure was something he avoided.

"So what do you think you're gonna get?" Alfred asked, opening his menu all the way and lifting it in front of his face so that Arthur could only see his eyes.

The minty flavor of the gum was still prominent in his mouth and he dreaded the idea of drinking orange juice so soon after, so Arthur looked towards the pancakes. "Isn't there something here that isn't coated in whipped cream or sugary syrup?" he said, twisting his mouth to the side. 

"It's really not that much whipped cream," Al said. "It's really more like a spoonful or two."

"Huh," Arthur replied. 

"Oh cool, check it out!" Al said and smacked the menu to the table. He was pointing at something surrounded by color -- more so than the others. "They've got seasonal stuff. Like pumpkin pancakes and these eggnog ones."

Arthur wrinkled his nose at idea of white chocolate raspberry pancakes. He liked eggnog, sure, but in a pancake? "I think I'll try the pumpkin ones," he said.

Alfred nodded, fast at first before slowing down. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, let's go with those. And then next time we can try the others." He looked so pleased with himself, Arthur couldn't say anything against it. Not that he did -- he didn't mind trying them out. And the idea of them doing it together felt somewhat cozy, nice.

The waitress came back fairly quickly with their drinks and they both ordered their pancakes and combo options. Alfred tore off one end to his straw and blew on it, propelling the paper out across at Arthur. It nearly landed in his coffee. Arthur wasn't sure how well he was making the face, but he hoped it conveyed his feelings of _really_?

"So you haven't been to anywhere else in the States?" Alfred asked. His blonde hair was hanging dark and limp around his face. Arthur could only guess at how _he_ looked. God, he wanted a shower. Al's glasses caught the light whenever he turned even the slightest bit to the left. 

Arthur shook his head. "No, this is my first time," he replied. "I really wanted to study in another country for a year."

"So why America?"

Arthur shrugged a little, looking over to a print of eggs hanging on the wall. The decor was really odd. "I can't speak any other language and America is so large, I could pick from several different schools. My major is English, you know, and there are many famous authors here."

"Isn't England better for that? Y'know, Shakespeare and all that?" Alfred asked. He straightened out the sugar packets and adjusted the bottles of syrup so they all faced the same way.

Arthur snorted, bringing up a hand to his mouth. "Shakespeare isn't everything," he replied. "He wrote plays and, while they do have their good points, I prefer novels. Pages of description, painting the scene in your head so well, it is _like_ a play. Or a show on the telly." He gave another shrug. "I admire those who can do such things."

Their food arrived faster than he anticipated, plates full of soft, spongy pancakes topped with a swirl of whipped cream, eggs shiny with grease from the pan, the golden centers wobbling under the thin skin from frying. They immediately dug in.

"So do you write?" Alfred asked with his mouth full of hash browns. His fork kept moving despite the time it took him to swallow between bites.

Arthur felt the tips of his ears heat up. "Um, not really," he said. "Mostly things for school."

Alfred's mouth wobbled, like he wanted to smile but by doing so, would display all his chewed up food. So Arthur beat him to it.

"What about you, what's your major?" he asked.

Al swallowed and guzzled down some milk. Arthur could feel his face changing to show his disgust -- eggs and milk? "Astronomy and Astrophysics," he replied.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. He knew Alfred wasn't dumb, but he never gave off the impression he was particularly talented in mathematics. Judging from his dorm room door, Arthur would have said he was planning to join a football team or soccer. He could easily see Al building himself up for it, being enthusiastic about upcoming games. Or even maybe something to do with art or history. But it did make some sense, he supposed, even if the only clue he had received was of the other man staring up at the night sky.

"I take it you're surprised?" Al said, a soft smile settling on his face, like he expected it, resigned to it.

Arthur took the honest route. "Yes," he said. "But only because I've never seen you interested in the subject or talk about it. But I also don't know you very well. I, for one, don't find much enjoyment in learning science or math. The idea of space, of scientific discovery -- sure. Only the idea, though. What made you interested in it?"

"The idea of it," Al replied and it looked like he tried pressing the smirk down, tried to keep it away, but it slipped out anyways. "And also _Star Trek_. Going into space, you know? And to do that, you need to know about it. Like planning a trip, you research where you are going first. It's like that."

"Did you really plan for this one?" Arthur deadpanned.

Al's smile reminded Arthur of a kid who got caught sneaking candy from the candy drawer. "This is different," he said, not quite meeting his gaze.

"How so?"

Al shrugged. "With space, you need to know how to measure distances based off an image. I know Earth. It's second nature to go oh, we're going to, I dunno, Florida -- we should probably dress light. You can't do that with other planets. It's the discovery, I guess. If you didn't know anything about Florida, anything at all, you wouldn't know what to bring. You wouldn't know what you'd see. Isn't that kind of exciting?" He let out a sigh and pulled his fingers through his hair. "I don't know if I'm saying it right. It doesn't feel like it."

Arthur nodded, slow. "No," he said. "No, I understand. It is called the great unknown, after all. And I've seen pretty images on the internet, though I couldn't even dream of trying to remember their names. I can see how being able to not only name them, but to know how they are formed, how they got their names, to see them -- how it would be appealing. To understand it all. Yes, I can see that."

Alfred's shoulders dropped a little, like he was relieved or terribly happy, possibly of an embarrassed sort, and his smile only further proved this. "Yeah," he said, looking down at his pancakes. "Yeah."

When they were finished eating and both had expressed great disappointment in the pumpkin pancakes, they paid at the register and continued on their way. Alfred still refused to go to a hotel, though, so Arthur settled for the next best thing: freshening up at a gas station and buying the proper supplies at the next Wal Mart they encountered. This involved various bathroom necessities, a winter coat, a change of clothes, and a backpack to put it all in.

Arthur knew this wouldn't be their last trip to Wal Mart, but he wasn't sure how many there would be, in the end. The thought worried him, though he pushed it to the back of his mind, where old school papers and grades sat. Whatever came would come and he was going to enjoy it, even if his conscious would only allow him just a little of it.

At some point, Alfred told him they had passed over into Kansas the night before, that it hadn't taken all that long. It explained the flat surroundings, Arthur noted. How the fields would stretch every which way and the sky was endless. It was really just land and sky and the long dark road in front of them. It made him miss Colorado more. He had liked the idea that all he had to do was look towards the mountains and know that was west. In Kansas, sense of direction was dictated by the road they were on, and even then it was as if they were traveling nowhere -- that they would drive on forever and nothing would change.

There wasn't a whole lot of conversation, either, and Arthur was stuck in his own head, his thoughts swirling around like a slow moving fog. They often moved towards books or movies, how he wished to have something to break the never ending terrain, the drone of the car, the music that had started to blur together.

At their next stop, Alfred announced a change in direction. The cluster of gas stations felt like an oasis in the middle of a gusty field. Puffy white clouds sailed across the sky with the sharp wind. The smell of dirt and gasoline was everywhere.

"I'm sick of it," he said. "I keep thinking I'm going to just find myself falling asleep because of how monotonous it all is. I keep driving and driving and driving and nothing really happens, I don't even have to change lanes all that often. It just sucks."

"You better not crash the car," Arthur replied. His legs were loving the exercise, the ability to stretch out and bend. "I really don't feel like dying all that yet."

Al narrowed his eyes with what looked like a twist of his mouth. "Don't worry, if you die, I die, and we all die together," he said. "And I'm excellent driver, I don't know what you're talking about."

Arthur snorted. "Okay, just keep in mind that if we die together, you'll still have to deal with an angry me in the afterlife," he said.

"Oh no," Alfred replied, voice several layers deep in sarcasm. "To have to deal with a short, angry British kid."

"I'm not a kid, I'm older than you."

"How do you know how old I am?"

"I don't," Arthur replied, with a smirk. "Just a feeling."

Alfred's eyes narrowed and there was this bubble of silence where Arthur felt ridiculously giddy about the whole thing. That this was fun. 

"I'm 22," Alfred finally said.

"Would you look at that," Arthur said, walking back to the car. "I guessed right."

"How old are you?"

"23."

Alfred shot him a combination glare-pout as he got in the driver's seat. "Whatever," he said.

The new route took them through Oklahoma and then parts of Texas, where it went from flat fields to flat, dry land with a few scraggly plants and natural grasses. Occasionally they'd get a tree. Near Dallas, they had to cross what looked like a lake. It didn't make Arthur nervous, not really, but he did bring up the idea again that crashing the car would be a thing he'd like to avoid. 

Louisiana had more trees, covering each side of the road and Arthur imagined it must have looked bright and lovely in the summer. As it were, the leaves had all but dropped and gnarled branches twisted with other trees, grouped together in clusters. It was still kind of pretty, with the muddied reds and oranges of the few leaves that remained, but Arthur would still insist on Colorado scenery being the best so far.

It was when they were getting close to Baton Rouge when Arthur remembered something.

"Will we see the Mississippi river?" Arthur asked, trying to sound nonchalant. It didn't seem to work, however, as Al gave him a sort of frown.

"We'll be crossing it, why?" he asked. Traffic had increased and there were several more roads, buildings -- signs they would be approaching a city.

"No real reason," Arthur said. This was a dirty lie.

"I call bullshit," Alfred sang. "So what about the Mississippi? You asked, so there's gotta be something."

Arthur turned to look out the window, feeling his cheeks heat up. He propped his arm up against the window, his hand half covering his mouth. "It's going to sound silly," he mumbled into his palm. And it was. It went round and round in his head and it was a silly reason to get excited.

"So? I wanna know," Al replied.

Arthur stared out into the traffic. They were coming to a sort of hill, maybe, as the road traveled up. "Um," he said, and straightened out. "I just really enjoyed books about the Mississippi, like Huck Finn. To travel down a single river and see so much, it's always just been fascinating." He gave a one shouldered shrug.

"That's cool," Alfred said, nodding a little while staring at the road in front of them. "I remember reading that book in high school. And the one about Tom Sawyer. He was a little shit. Huck was a little more endearing, if I'm remembering correctly."

"Yes," Arthur said, wriggling in his seat, a smile pushing its way onto his face. "Huck actually had remorse for the things he did and always kept other people's needs in mind. Tom was interested in his own adventures."

Alfred nodded to this and it grew quiet as they approached a bridge. Giant steel bars crisscrossed over the road and on either side. One glance out the window and Arthur was smacking Al's arm, telling to get into the right hand lane, that _this was the Mississippi_ and he wanted to see it. He even rolled down the window, even though all it brought in were the sounds of cars, the smell of exhaust, and the faint noises of ships cleaving their way through the water. A murky scent mingled with the cars, like a fish tank gone gross with algae. But Arthur did not mind.

The sun glinted off the ripples on the water. Barges laden with cargo tugged along, the river like a street of its own -- half in one direction, half in the other. It wasn't much like Arthur had envisioned, but he could easily see it transforming backwards, to the time slavery still existed in the south. The way Huck and Jim might have traveled down such a broad river in their time. It was everything Arthur had expected and more.

When they had crossed the bridge, making their way through the city was a tedious task. Traffic had slowed down and they didn't even need to be in the city, just to cross through it, Alfred had said. They spent most of the time in silence, staring out their respective windows and inching the car forward whenever it would allow. Once they were clear of Baton Rouge, however, traffic sped up along with Arthur's anticipation. He didn't want to admit it, not out loud, but he was looking forward to their destination.

Lake Pontchartrain was the next large body of water they encountered, though they only skirted around an edge of it for a long while. Endless water to the left, and Arthur was a little bummed it wasn't on his side. Alfred let all the windows down and the air was surprisingly warmer than Arthur had thought it'd be. It also threw his hair all over his face and made it near impossible to hear anything Al said. He had the sneaking feeling that if he were to open his mouth for too long, bugs would fly in.

When they finally crept up to New Orleans, Arthur felt his stomach plummet. This was not what he had been expecting. It looked smaller than what he had seen in pictures and far less grand. Alfred didn't say much, eyebrows furrowed as he mouthed exit numbers to himself. He managed to inch the car over bit by bit, lane by lane, until they were at what felt like the heart of it all. It wasn't until they had taken the exit he had circled on his map that realization dawned on Arthur.

The city _was_ big, it _was_ grand. The vast network of roads had covered it up. Building of all sorts of colors, shapes, and sizes lined the roads. A grid pattern, Al mentioned as a sort of thankful thing. It made getting lost significantly less easy. Arthur could have had his face pressed up to the window, trying to see everything, if he thought they weren't going to get out and have a look. But first came the most important part of their entire trip: finding a hotel.

It wasn't that hard, as they had both pondered over the map for a long while, trying to determine which would be the best and least expensive. Checking in wasn't difficult, though Al bitched about the extra parking cost all the way up to their room in the elevator. 

"You wanna take a shower first or does it matter?" Al asked, setting his bag down on one of the queen beds.

Arthur shrugged. He had brushed his teeth in a gas station bathroom earlier, he didn't really care at this point -- they were both going to use the bathroom. Order wasn't really high on his list of needs. "You can go first," he said. "I have to get the tags off of these clothes."

Alfred nodded, took what he needed from the bag, and locked the bathroom door behind him. Soon after, the whooshy sound of the shower started. 

Arthur settled down in one of the stiff couches by the window. They were several stories up and looking down at the people below felt odd but made him sort of giddy. He was looking forward to feeling fresh, feeling clean, and gallivanting around the city like the tourist he was. He only wished he had brought a camera along, or even his phone. He wouldn't be able to explain these pictures to his parents, ever, unless it was an elaborate story about going on a trip during fall break. Maybe that could work. But he wouldn't even have pictures, so it didn't matter.

New Orleans. What did he know about New Orleans? Not much, he was afraid, but it was rich in history and there had been that horrible hurricane. It was impressive how much of the city looked just fine. It _had_ been several years, though it didn't feel like it. People bustling down the streets in their groups of friends, family, coworkers. It was fascinating to think about all the different lives, different memories that existed in the world. And almost every single one would fade away, their stories untold, their existence only stretching out in the memories of others until they too, faded away.

Once they had both cleaned up, there was still enough light in the sky to wander around town. Al had studied the map for one really intense moment before they left, despite Arthur nagging him to take the bloody map with them. But apparently they'd ask for directions if they got lost, with Al assured him they wouldn't. Not with his keen sense of direction or whatever.

Al dragged him in all sorts of directions at first, looking at old building, restaurants they probably couldn't afford, and shop windows. He let Arthur buy a few things, a few souvenirs and knickknacks, but he warned him about the limited space in his car and since Arthur didn't know how many other places they would be going, he managed to push down the impulse.

The French district was his favorite, despite automatically thinking of his roommate first. The buildings were all brightly colored with ornate railings. For some reason, it also reminded Arthur of the little houses in Colorado Springs, but maybe that was because the houses had reminded him of Europe at first.

"Could you imagine living here?" Arthur asked, looking up at a flowerbox full of cut down, dead plants. Perhaps they were only hibernating for the winter. He could easily picture how lovely it must all look in the summertime. The air would have been thicker, though, with the heat and water nearby. Difficult to breathe, too, most likely. Colorado air was thin, Arthur had noticed.

"Not really," Al replied honestly. "Too many people walking around, too many noises. It's pretty, that's for sure. But I kind of like the idea of having my own yard, y'know? Though I like the idea of taking a walk and ending up near a river. What d'you say to that?"

Arthur nodded along to his words. "Sure," he said. "I do love the Mississippi."

"Don't we know that," Al said with a sly smile. 

Arthur gave him a light shove, rolling his eyes. "Let's get going, then, so we can make it back before the night really settles in," he said.

The walk didn't take them terribly long and Arthur felt the electric thrill of _this is the Mississippi_ up close and personal. He walked right up to the edge, crouched down, and swirled the water with his fingers. It smelled even worse up close.

"You think that's safe?" Al asked, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Arthur asked. There weren't any dead fish floating, that he could see.

Al sort of shrugged and looked up, off at the buildings across from them. The sun was slipping down behind them and unfortunately, the buildings cut off any sunset they might see. The water was cool under Arthur's fingers and he wondered if the river would freeze at all during the winter. 

"Thank you," Al said after a while.

"Hmm?" Arthur hummed. "For what?

"For coming with me. I know you didn't have to and I know I sort of dragged you along for most of the ride," he said. "I could have kicked you out. So thanks. It's a lot nicer going with someone than going alone."

Arthur didn't know what to say. His fingers continued to trail through the water and a peaceful silence floated between them. Once the sky was colored with the fading light, he stood up and they made their way back down the bright roads, back to the hotel.


End file.
